Ignis
by kakashikrazy256
Summary: When the organization caught him, Kid had expected torture and blackmail. What they did to him was far worse. Drug addiction fic.


**Hello kids, I'm back with a DCMK story for the first time in half a year ahaha…what better way to start off than torturing my favorite boy.**

 **For PoirotCafe's Themed Competition #26- Heat**

 **This is inspired by me binge-watching all three seasons of Graceland. I recommended it to those who love crime drama with roommate comedy mixed in. It's a nice show to watch over the summer. And I have the craziest obsession with Aaron Tveit's characters right now. It's so bad…**

 **Warnings: Drug abuse (Heroin), addiction, and withdrawals, torture, violence, language, and general darkness. Please be careful and think carefully before reading.**

 **We're going to start in media res**

 **Enjoy!**

When they finally caught him, Kid was prepared for the worst.

They were going to torture him. It would be the usual punches and kicks until they grew tired, and resorted to nail-pulling and knives. Maybe they would even use acid and burn his skin until he was unrecognizable. His imagination was enough to keep him entertained for the two days they left him tied to a chair in the dark.

They didn't use handcuffs or rope. His wrists were incased in metal cuffs that pressed coolly against his skin. It didn't leave much wiggle room. By now, the cool metal was sticky with his sweat, chafing his irritated skin red. He was surprised at their intelligence. Snake and his gang never seemed to show even an ounce of wit. Maybe the leader of this organization was finally getting serious. _About time_ , he mused to himself. It had been nearly two years since he started stealing. He wasn't too worried. They would have to at least let him out to use the bathroom unless they wanted him dead from lack of hygiene within the first week.

He barely winces when the door swings open, bathing him in an onslaught of light. He sees a clock on the wall. Before the black spots even disappear, his vision turns white as his head snaps to the right. With a hidden grin, he didn't even grunt when the fist came up against his jaw. Snake accentuates each hit with growled curses. _Bastard._ A slap. _Motherfucker_. A punch. _Goddamn waste of time_. A kick to the gut.

 _This_ , he coughs wetly, _this he could handle_. Kid reasons to himself in a throbbing daze. He knows how much pain he can take; a few punches and kicks would not break him. He would hold out for another couple of days until they unchain him. Then he'd make his escape. Hopefully, he would still have his hands and feet by then.

"This is a shitty interrogation method. You haven't even asked me a question yet." He spits through his bloody teeth with a grin. Snake looks as if his veins would pop if the thief speaks again. The hitman aims a raised fist towards his nose-

The arm stops, and Kid blinks in confusion. There's a shift in the darkness, and his eyes follow the moving figure until the silhouette becomes a man. The face is hidden under a hood, and the light casts a shadow over his features. There is the clinkering of metal, and Kid watches a moving tray of tools slide into view. He swallows, and hopes he would still have his hands and feet at the end of the day.

"You're here to gut me?" He stares up at the man with a smile, spitting saliva and blood out of his mouth. There is no reply, so he presses on."Do me a favor? Cut my ears off first so I don't have to listen to this idiot anymore."

Snake's punch catches him on the nose with a sickening crack, and he swears under his breath as blood gushes out in streams. It drips everywhere, and he ignores the flaring pain in order to watch the shadow's gloved hands.

The man reaches for the tray, fingers hovering over scalpels and drills before landing on a bottle. He presses a cotton ball over the open lid before turning to brush it against Kid's inner arm.

"Cleaning me up before killing me? Aw you shouldn't have." He continues to bite out remarks, feeling his heart jump with every word. The alcohol leaves a cool wet trail that causes him to shiver.

"He's not gonna kill you." Snake's resentful voice reaches his ears from behind.

The man wraps something around his bicep tightly, and Kid's blood runs cold when he sees the syringe.

"What's that?" He attempts to keep the apprehension out of his words. Truth serum? Poison? There's no answer and he wrenches in his seat when the shadow brings the needle near his arm. Snake's rough hands are suddenly gripping his shoulders in place.

The needle drags bloody scratches across his skin with each jerky movement, but he didn't care. If they were going to keep him captive, he might as well make it as difficult as possible. He didn't think they would resort to something like this so quickly. He had hoped for another day of physical punishment. He didn't have an escape plan ready, he needed-

He hisses when the needle is finally jabbed into a vein. The man stares into his eyes.

"Who." He simply says.

The plunger goes down, and time stops.

/

It had burned the first time he was injected.

He was on fire, but he didn't know if the flames came from outside or from within. The room must've been filling up with smoke because he couldn't breathe either.

It was like being thrusted ten years into the past. He was back in the audience, surrounded by heat and screams. Everyone was running away, but his feet were firmly planted to the ground. Because that was dad up on that stage. That was dad writhing in the hell inferno, trying to escape the monster eating him up alive. Kaito wanted to help, but he couldn't move. The flames were licking at his face, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't scream for his father. He couldn't even let Toichi hear his voice one last time.

He had vomited all over himself, unable to keep the churning in his stomach to stop. His arms pulled against their restraints, his skin was scalding against the metal cuffs. He refused to yell out, even though the only thing he wanted to do was cry. Because somewhere in his overheated mind, he still remembered something called a poker face.

It was over as quick as it came. He could practically hear the hiss of steam as his body fell back from its high, and he slumped back against the chair. The door opened, the clock glinted in the light.

It had been twenty four hours.

"Disgusting brat." He hears Snake's disdain as he blinks blearily. By the time he comes back into awareness, he finds himself shirtless with traces of bile dried on his chin. The figure with the hood is back in front of him. Cool alcohol presses against his arm.

He shakes his head, refusing to verbally beg. His head is spinning, and the nausea returns full force. He can already see the flames, and feel it's relentless burn. He didn't want to see his dad die again. Once had been enough. Twice was a breaking point. He didn't need a third time. He wants to leave. It has been three days. They need to let him out soon. To eat, to drink, to take a god damn piss ( _though he feels bone dry, all moisture lost in the form of sweat_ ). Then, he could escape.

His weakened attempts to escape fail to stop the man from pressing the needle in again.

"Who."

The world falls away as his eyes roll back.

/

It was different the second time.

There was no longer a pit of fire spreading throughout every crevice.

He was in front of a fireplace. The soft glow was inviting, and he wasn't afraid. He pressed his face against the gray rug, running his hand over the familiar grape juice stain.

He remembered this place. It was the winter cabin in the States. Toichi had rented it out every winter, and ushered his son and wife out of the country, and into three weeks of endless skiing and hot chocolate.

Kaito didn't even have to look back to know his parents were sitting on the love seat, hands intertwined as they watched him roll around in front of the fire. The snow fell softly outside the window, and everything just felt _right_.

"This doesn't make any sense."

His head is pressed against his chest, too heavy to lift. The words sound hazy, and echo with hundreds of other sounds.

"Why the hell are we making him feel good? We should be ripping the bastard into shreds! Making him wish he never got in our way"

He is pretty sure he lets out a fucking giggle as his head lolls to the side, his constricted pupils turning to stare at the floor. The bloodstains from his nose are still there. They look exactly like the grape juice stain.

"This will be worse." An unfamiliar voice whispers through the air.

Kid hears the clink of fingers against glass, the tightening of rubber against his arm, and watches blankly as the needle enters him again.

/

This went on _**every single day.**_

The man with the hood came in and injected him every single day, without fail. The same word was uttered from the man's lips before the needle goes in- _who. Who. Who._ It was never said as a question. It was a demand that Kid told himself he would never answer. He'd be send out of his god damn body, shot up with so much heroin he wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. (He sure as hell didn't deserve it)

The next high started before he even had a chance to wake from the previous one. They only released him from his chair during these moments- when he was sober enough to walk but too messed up to form a coherent thought. He looked at the clock each time the door opened, but the numbers didn't mean anything.

The scariest thing- he wasn't even thinking about escape. He was thinking about the warmth of the fireplace, his dad's laugh, his mom's smile. He was thinking about when the man would bring the next syringe. Because it just _felt so fucking good_.

Then it stopped.

/

His body is back in the inferno. The part of his mind screaming poker face at him was drowning in the screeches of the one begging for another hit. His breaths sound wretched; his lips are cracking from the dryness.

He whips his head back and forth, trying to drive the headache away. He arches in his chair, a groan escaping his lips. His hands are shaking so hard, the metal cuffs are jangling loudly. The fire returns full force, and all he sees is the image of his father's burnt corpse.

"J-just…" He gasps out, blinking in the darkness. The cart of supplies must be around here somewhere. He- _god he just needs_ -he can't see dad like this anymore

"G-give it…give it to me." He barely believes the words that leave his mouth. This isn't him.

He sits in his chair, jolting and panting for god knows how long. He tries to count out the seconds, but he doesn't ever get past ten before another wave of pain hits him, and he's straining in his seat.

He lets out a soft keening noise when the door finally opens. The clock blinks three in morning.

The figure walks in alone. Snake is not in sight. The light from outside illuminates the metal cart and Kid's eyes narrow in on it immediately.

The man picks up the filled syringe, and the thief is already straining in his chair. _It hurts._ It hurts so much. _I just need a little_ \- he tells himself. Just enough for the pain to end. Then he could focus on escape.

The man is standing in front of him now, the syringe in hand. Kid's arm- _turned bloody and purple with track marks_ \- is straining against the cuff, jerking towards the needle point that is too far away.

His subdued whines are turning increasingly audible as his eyes widen desperately. What was the man waiting for? Wasn't this his punishment? Why wasn't he giving him the needle?

"C-come on." He hardly even recognizes his own voice, but that doesn't matter.

"Who."

He bites into his lips, and thrashes in frustration. _Shitshitshit._ This is what it came down to. Sweat is dripping down his forehead as the fire roars with laughter. Another attack is starting to sneak up. He's burning again. He sees his father's body creeping around the corner of his vision, and he clenches his eyes shut.

"Who."

 _I can't._ The voice in his mind cracks. His world would be destroyed if he answers.

He feels the nausea roll in again with the fire. His father corpse is lying behind the man.

"Kuroba…Kaito." He chokes.

The man stands perfectly still. Kaito didn't move either. He lets his head drop to his chest, his eyes unblinking at the sheer weight of the consequences he just reaped.

The needle joins his arm, leaving another mark within the sea of others.

The warmth of the fireplace envelopes him.

/

The next time he comes down, his arms are free. He sits in silence, and stares at the irritated red marks around his wrists. He blinks up at the clock. It reads three in the morning.

He can see the clock.

The door was open. The man wasn't here.

No one was here.

Kaito stumbles to his feet, feeling them shake just as badly as his hands are. He's shivering, and he already misses the fireplace.

The metal cart is centimeters from his chair, and his eyes land on the syringe.

His hands are already wrapped around the needle before he processes anything else. He plunges down, and his mouth falls open with a sigh of relief as the drug runs its course through his veins.

His world starts collapsing.

 **Ahaa Kaito, there's much worse things in store for you, baby boy. I think one more chapter shall do it.**

 **Reviews are appreciated and loved, I hope you enjoyed.**


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